


Anonymous

by Rinzler



Series: Retellings [3]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/pseuds/Rinzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of Season 1, Episode 8 from Greg's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anonymous

“So, what's the pot up to?” Greg asks, adding a reactant to the sample he's processing and tapping the dropper on the side of the bottle. He drops the pipette end into the trash and starts to screw the lid onto the bottle.

Both Nick and Warrick are in his lab, and since normally it's only one CSI per case that stops by, that means they're probably working together on something. When Nick and Warrick work together, they have a tendency to get competitive, and that means there's usually a bet involved. Hence them both being here, to make sure the other doesn't get an advantage by finding out the results of the sample first.

Greg doesn't really care about what they're betting on or the sample they've given him, he just hopes it lands solidly on Nick's side. The last time Nick and Warrick made a bet and Nick won, he hugged the girl from Trace- Amanda- who ID'ed the tire tracks the suspect has left at the scene so hard he lifted her right off her feet. After those same tire tracks cracked the case, Nick had run back into Trace with six hundred-dollar bills sticking out of his pocket and kissed Amanda hard on the mouth before running out again with a loud whoop of victory. What Greg wouldn't do for Nick to kiss him like that... But, being realistic here, he'll settle for a hug.

“Oh, we don't bet on cases,” Nick replies hastily to Greg's question about the pot. Greg glances over at him. “Ah. 'Course you don't,” he says, smirking. Nick thinks he's so slick, but everybody from the lab can tell when he lies because his shoulders tense up and he raises his chin a bit. Bless his good old fashioned Southern upbringing, but the man can't lie to save his life, and he wears the slightest hint of guilt so obviously that it's a good thing he's on their side of the police tape.

Greg finishes screwing on the cap of the bottle holding the sample and then looks back up at both men with a smirk. “So who's winning?”

Two simultaneous “I am's” ensue, and Greg tries hard not to laugh as he looks at them, Warrick suddenly staring off to the side and Nick with his gaze fixed upon the floor. “Fiends,” he mutters.

The sample goes in the rotation case of the machine, which spins around and then begins its analysis. Greg bounces awkwardly on his toes, trying to decide if he should turn around and strike up a conversation in the- what, 20 seconds it takes to analyze the sample? He shakes his head. Forget it. What could he possibly say in 20 seconds that would be in any way interesting to Nick?

He's running through the possibilities in his head (they range from "can I get in on the bet?"-Warrick- to "I'd really like to take you out to a nice dinner and then keep you in my bed for a couple of hours, hope you don't have any objections"-Nick, obviously-) when the machine gives a loud beep and the printer starts whirring to life, one sheet of paper sliding smoothly out into the holding slot. Greg picks it up and flips it around, mentally crossing his fingers. _Please help out Nick, please help out Nick, please help out Nick._

“Your mystery dust,” he says, “Is silicon blue dye.”

Both Nick and Warrick's expressions look equally clueless at his announcement. Greg frowns.

Warrick apparently decides to ask first. “What's that?” Nick tilts his head to the side and stares at Greg more intensely, as though the answer is a life or death matter.

 _Dang it._ If they don't recognize the compound, it's probably not all that important. Greg answers the question anyway, even though he could just shove the paper at Nick at tell the CSIs to figure it out themselves now that he knows he's not going to get anything beyond the usual 'thanks, man' for working the case.

“Pool cue chalk,” Greg says, gaze flickering back and forth from Warrick to Nick. Nick has less of a clueless expression on his face now and more of a 'so what?' one, the edges of his mouth turned slightly downwards as though sceptical, eyebrows raised just a little bit. Then realization flickers in his eyes, and both Nick and Warrick lean back in tandem, mouths falling open in the classic 'oh!' gesture of recognition- though they don't exactly look excited about the fact. Greg waits hopefully in case it does turn out to be an important clue, but-

“Thanks, man,” Warrick says, slapping Greg on the back, and both he and Nick turn to leave.

-apparently not.

Greg watches forlornly as they walk down the hallway and head into one of the break rooms, Nick picking up a football he brought in a while ago and tossing it from hand to hand while they strike up a conversation. Maybe if Greg had met Nick while he was in high school he'd have had more of a chance. Wasn't there some unofficial rule that at least one of the jocks wound up dating a nerd?

Greg sighs as Nick tosses the football up and down and from hand to hand, easily palming and catching it, eyes not even on the ball but on Warrick. Maybe at his school there was ( _Daisy Miller and Shaun O'Connery,_ _eleventh_ _and twelfth grade respectively_ ), but probably not at Nick's.

 _Oh well,_ Greg thinks to himself as Nick flashes Warrick a brilliant smile, _I can always dream._


End file.
